New Years
by The Golden City
Summary: For the men who never sleep it's just another night spent fighting. /Humanized, warnings for violence/


Worlds most self-indulgent New Years fic ever?

This one.

Enjoy it. or don't, you know I don't really mind. Either way I don't own penguins of Madagascar, I just borrowed it for my own amusement and will return it when I'm done. Maybe.

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Un-named character death and Language.

Muse-ic: (I totally stole that term.) Human, Manafest.

* * *

His nose was bleeding, and as he stood there he could feel the hot wet trails it was carving across his upper lip. There was blood on his clothes, most of it wasn't his, but it didn't make him feel any better. His nose hurt from the elbow that had crunched into it and effectively shattered it, probably making it look more broken then it had before. Thankfully it had gone from a sharp biting pain to a dull burn, but it was still going to hurt to try and set back into place.

His legs were fine save for the bruise that was going to sprout on his knee and the deep cut on his ankle. Arms were still there, ditto to the ten fingers regardless that two were broken and one dislocated. His shoulders hurt and there as a bullet graze on his side that had cut dangerously close to piercing through him front and back. One black eye, and one broken nose and some ass had taken a bite out of his ear.

But he was alive, and that was more then what could be said for the majority of people around him.

He brought his arm up, holding his gun tightly as he wiped the blood off his mouth with his wrist, staining the white shirt he was wearing even further.

They hadn't come for a fight, and on a day like today who wanted to have to throw punches anyway. Sadly what was supposed to be a place for negotiation had turned into a battle ground, and it was only through sheer luck that they were prepared, with knives strapped to their sides and guns hidden away in the folds of their clothes.

It was a violent drawn out affair, and it had taken less than twenty minutes before lethal force was approved.

From there it had collapsed into a seething mass of blood and electrified heart rates. A violent game of hide and seek throughout the warehouse and office buildings with everyone well aware that it was kill or be killed.

Shuddering against the feeling of the blood cooling and drying on his skin he bent over and carefully dragged the corpse in front of him over to the wall, the red streaking across the floor only making his stomach churn more.

The mans red hair was plastered to his skull and his clothes were dusty and ill-fitted and his eyes were staring blankly ahead without a single flinch. He closed his eye-lids and carefully with two fingers and brushed some of the hair over the weeping angry hole between his eyes. The whole floor was littered with bodies like that, one or two shots fired into heads or hearts that would have killed them in under a minute, if not in seconds.

He would recognize Kowalski's handy work anywhere.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, tasting the smoke in the air, before picking up the canister of gasoline and pouring it onto the floor and walls and the body he had just moved. He'd gotten the orders through the failing intercom fourteen minutes ago via their Danish sometimes-comrade. He tucked his gun into his empty gun into his pocket and withdrew a box of matches. He struck it against the side of the box awkwardly, trying to balance the box between his thumb and little finger to avoid putting pressure on his damaged fingers. As it lit it he kicked the canister over onto its side and watched it clatter with an echoing clang and a gurgle as the remaining fuel spilt onto the floor.

It was a bizarre way to do it, but it was the only way they had to honour the dead, a kind of armature cremation that they could only hope would give the men peace in whatever afterlife they believed in. It was also handy for destroying evidence. He dropped the match on the soldiers splayed and drenched legs before walking away, not bothering to watch the flames grown over his skin and the ground around him. He'd seen it too many times already.

Pushing open the door with his good hand he limped out onto the dirt track and walked down towards the silhouettes he could see moving in the orange glazed landscape. His heels kicked up dust as he walked, and it was clumping against the blood setting into his pants and the blood still pulsing from the wound on his ankle.

The sky was alight with stars, the gathered clouds turning into silver whips against the back drop of black. But this was slowly being stained with the angry amber hues from the fire that was quickly gathering intensity behind him.

He wished he could feel something, anything aside from the terrible numbness permeating his bones and chilling them against the fire that burned in his injuries. He wanted to be angry, or sad or even relieved that he was alive, but all he felt was hollow.

As he reached the grassy out crop he heard the sound of his name being called and he looked up in time to see a tall lanky figure striding across the silver tones green towards him. A tall figure with concerned eyes in the lightest shade of blue and delicate features that had no place on a soldier with a rifle slung over his shoulder. His eyes were crinkling up in the corners in the way they did whenever he was anxious, the black strands of wavy hair falling over his eyebrows in that shabby but still neat way.

He fell into his arms, trusting the scientist to meet him halfway. He took in a shaky breath as he lent his head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of gunpowder and dust. "Tell me you're ok." He murmured, desperate for something to hold onto.

"I'm fine." He replied in that familiar baritone. "A little damage, but nothing that can't be healed with time, First aid and basic pharmaceutical medication." A hand rubbed soothingly over his back and he realized faintly that he was clinging to him far harder then he should have been and reluctantly pulled away. He saw their shirts stick together before he saw the gash torn in Kowalski's and the blood staining the area around it.

Kowalski had been trained as an assassin, meaning long range and perfectly aimed shots, no where near close enough to catch the violent sprays of blood.

Immediately he was on his knee that wasn't sore, pushing the scientist's shirt up to reveal a jagged wound roughly stitched shut. It was an angry red colour with black thread crossing the split and scarring the flat planes of smooth milky white skin. He ran his thumb gently over the wound, watching as the scientist tensed as he did it. He looked up accusingly, seeing tired eyes stare back. "You said you were fine!"

"I am."

"This doesn't look fine Kowalski, this looks like someone stabbed you!" He hissed, suddenly so irrationally angry at whoever had done this despite that they were either dead, burning in the building behind him or dying as their hearts suddenly stopped.

Kowalski tugged on his shoulders, and he grunted in pain, suddenly reminded of the way they had been wrenched behind him as he was slammed into the wall, taking the blow on the jaw. He stood and let the scientist cup his face and run his thumbs over the area around his broken nose. "I am fine Rico. I was stabbed, but it's been seen too, the same cannot be said about you and your nose however." His focus changed sharply, muttering under his breath as his fingers flitted over his bruising eye and gouged side in turn.

He heard the sharp intake of breath as he pulled away the bandage he had made out of the torn shirt of one of the nameless soldiers and hurried to say, "I can stitch it up, its ok." He said, briefly registering the hypocrisy in his words.

"Rico!"

That time it came from Hans, and Kowalski stepped aside so he could approach the Dane. He was perched on a rock, purple shirt open and his black coat handing of his shoulders as his blood slicked fingers dragged the needle through the skin of his stomach, drawing the wound closed. He hissed and looked up with almost amused brown eyes, his carefully cut wavy hair spattered with blood. "Hope you don't mind I touched what's yours." He said, adjusting his grip on the needle and looking back down to push it back though his skin.

Kowalski stiffened at his side and he could almost hear the angry polish curse that was about to roll off his tongue and cut him off. "I'm sure he wouldn't have let you if you didn't know what you were doing." He let the question ask itself

Hans grunted in response, "If you spend enough time fending for yourself and you learn a few things." He jerked his head in the direction of Rico's team leader. "The kid has a bullet in his leg, Skippy can't take it out and I couldn't while bleeding to death. Now is your chance to defend your title as medic."

He wasn't listening by this point though, already ducking down next to his leader. He was crouched on the ground, hands pressed down tightly over Privates leg where he lay on the grass, face contorted in pain and teeth clenched.

"Anything on the bullets?"

Skipper looked at him oddly, heavy eyebrows furrowing over his mid blue eyes. "What do you mean?"

He leant over and started slapping Privates right cheek lightly. "Not talking to you sir, Hans!"

"Yes?"

"You worked for him way back, anything on the bullets? Poison or shit like that?" He asked, getting slightly distracted as the youngest team member started groaning. "Private, buddy, ok scale of one to ten how much pain are you in?" He asked, tugging on his shirt with his useful fingers as he did, pleased when his leader started struggling with his, covering the wound himself and applying pressure.

Private groaned. "Nghh… eight."

"I don't think there was. He never mentioned doing anything like that." Hans said.

Rico grit his teeth. "You have to be sure Hans, if I leave this in and its toxic he's going to die!"

There was a moment of silence. "No. There isn't, he would have seen it as redundant." He paused. "I would have with that many soldiers." The tone of his voice was almost regretful, like he was upset he even had the ability to think that way.

He was ignoring him by this point though, and pressed his hand to the soldier's sternum, counting the breaths he was taking. Satisfied it was regular enough to be safe he turned his attention to his wrists, feeling for his pulse. Again it was regular enough for his standards. "Private, you still with me? I need you to move your feet for me."

When nothing moved in a few seconds his heart leapt into his throat, but a delayed twitch of first the right and then the left leg had it dropping back down into his chest. Hans had said there was a bullet in his leg so there was probably no exit wound. He turned to see skipper ripping the last part of his shirt into strips with a large knife and quickly wrapped some of them up into a rough ball, lifting his hand to press it against the wound before trying it there with the remaining strips. For good measure he knotted the sleeves around his groin, hoping to diminish blood flow before it even got to the open hole in his flesh. Sitting back on his heels he wiped his bloody hand off onto his pants leg and grinned wickedly. "There we go Private, Good as new, if you don't count the gaping hole in your leg."

Satisfied he wasn't about to die Skipper set about helping the youngest soldier to his feet despite the various pained sounds leaving the boys throat. Keeping an eye on the makeshift bandage on his leg he started to try and re-tie the one around his waist.

It was the violent sound of splintering wood that distracted him, as well as the deafening crashing that followed. All eyes turned back to the building that was just starting to burn the last they had checked. Now it was ablaze, the flames licking into the silver studded sky, throwing up plumes of smoke as ash with its flickering fingers. The roof was collapsing, the building falling in on itself as the fire ate at it from inside out.

Rico found himself captivated by the bright and dangerous tendrils as they snaked out of the building, alive and dancing in the destruction they had caused. It was beautiful in its fury, and at the same time so terribly sad as he thought of the lives that had been taken in that very same building. He pulled the matches out of his pocket and ran his thumb over the striking surface. The first time he had done this he had used a lighter and had only been 17. As well as that the building had been empty, the therapists closed up for the night.

"Even though they were clones, I still feel guilty and sick." Private whimpered, leaning heavily on Skipper as he was hobbled over to stand beside Kowalski, Hans already gliding into the space beside him.

Skipper sighed, eyes heavy, as though he had seen too much in his life. "That's not a bad thing Private. Never lose that."

Everywhere beyond the building was back, darkened considerably compared to the blaze that was lighting up the landscape like a giant torch. "Guns have to run out of bullets some time." He murmured. "But fire will blaze and blaze as long as it has something to burn."

"Well said." Hans intoned.

And then there was silence, a good minute where all that could be heard was the screaming of the building as it crumpled under the inferno bearing down on it. It was a loud beeping that brought them out of it, all eyes turning to Kowalski as he blinked in surprise at the watch on his wrist.

Rico just sighed and he silenced the alarm.

"Happy New Year to us."

* * *

EXPLANATION TIME:

Why can Rico talk? : Because I said so :3 (I'd give you a proper explanation but… spoilers.)  
What is hans doing here?! : Well in my opinion Hans is like everyone's number one lackey for hire, but don't ask him to kill skipper. Because he just won't. He'll join with the penguins when they need the manpower if Skipper begs him enough.  
Clones?! : Red one, two, three, four… If you make em to fast their hearts give out after a certain time though :(  
Polish curse?: Kowalski is a polish surname, raised mostly by American staff but with polish parents he learnt the language.  
ASSASIN?!: Make of that what you will.  
Why no bullet removal?: Its actually safer to leave it in until the proper tools are on hand, (like anesthetic, YIKES!)  
Why not a happy new years fic! : Hahaha… I had a boring new years.

Hope y'all have a happy and safe 2014


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